Of Magic and Justice
by Mx4
Summary: Harry Potter's last suicidal attack on a triumphant Voldemort should've sent them both to hell. Instead his slate has been wiped clean and a new lease on existence granted to him as sole heir of the powerful sorceress Circe. What sort of life can this reborn soul expect to live as the only son to one of the Amazon's greatest enemies?
1. End of the Old World

Harry Potter was going to die.

He'd known this physically when he was eleven as a teacher possessed by the shade of a black souled wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort blistered, burned and crumbled into ash under the touch of Harry's bare hands: his mother's love repelling the shadow of evil residing within him.

He'd known this intellectually when he was fifteen and his headmaster Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards in the world as Hagrid would put it, told him that the prophecy surrounding himself and Voldemort would never give him rest from the sadistic madmen even if he tried.

But now?

Now he knew it viscerally. His very core of emotions that pushed his fight or flight instincts that had allowed a twelve-year-old the strength to drive a blade into the roof of a Basilisk's mouth, that had allowed a fourteen-year-old to withstand a torture curse designed specifically to cause the greatest amount of pain a man could experience without dying, that had let him stand before the encroaching shadows of the Death Eaters with a spine of iron now told him that this was the end.

The battle had been pitched and frantic: scorching parts of the Forbidden Forest, the Quidditch Pitch in its entirety and a great deal of Hogwarts proper itself. So many had been cut down.

Fenrir Greyback burning alive in the fires of an enraged Fleur Delacour for the maiming and death of Bill Weasley. Bellatrix LeStrange getting a broken chuck of castle support beam jammed into her brain through her eye when she thought just because she'd severed Neville Longbottom's right arm at the bicep that he was helpless enough to lean over and taunt. Hermione Granger cut down by Lucius Malfoy not ten minutes after she successfully taken out the Carrow twins at the same time. Susan Bones blown apart by a Bombarda hex not moments after she'd exhausted her shield charm holding back a collapsing wall of the castle. So much blood. So much death on all sides. No matter who won, it seemed everyone had lost.

And why? Time after time the alarms had been raised. By Dumbledore. By himself. By those who felt the losses keenly of the last war and knew the storm had only lulled rather than broken. And still none had listened. Preferring instead to lie to themselves, to bury their heads in the warmth of the sand: never realizing that as they did so they suffocated themselves without a fight.

The fight raged on around them. Harry was casting spells furiously, his phoenix feather wand overheating in his head from how much energy was burning through it. Voldemort too was casting furiously, blasting apart things and casting the Avada Kadavra with reckless abandon whilst Harry fought back with more basic elemental attacks, summoning debris to act as a shield and looking to find what distractions he could.

Finally, Voldemort managed to break through his defenses. Harry's wand was sent spinning to the ground. And as he leapt for it a gout of flame engulfed the wand, burning Harry's right hand and preventing him from grabbing it. Even as he cradled the smoldering appendage close to his abdomen while hunched over on the ground he heard the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort approach.

"I must admit Harry Potter, you have certainly done much better than I'd ever think to give you credit for." He said, mocking tone distinctly at odds with the consoling words.

Harry's mind was racing. All else had failed him in this time of need. The power of love didn't do much to save anyone from the inevitable march of time or the power of death. And Dumbledore had been so confident in Harry's inherent protection by his mother's magic that he'd never even bothered to try training him until it was already too late. What was there left to do? Most would've answered with 'be defiant to the end' or 'have faith' or some other trite advice that entirely ignored the fact that this was not a fairy tale and he was not lucky enough to scrape by with sheer moxie anymore.

"But there is no more intervention here." Voldemort flung him into some of the collapsed masonry in the courtyard, leisurely strolling after him as the sounds of fighting died and the acrid smell of burning invaded Harry's nostrils instead of the crisp air that usually came this time of year.

"No mother or godfather to die for you." Harry was flung face first into a partially shattered column, his glasses shattering and the hinge driving partway into the flesh of his left temple as he involuntarily closed his eyes to prevent the flying glass shards of the lenses from blinding him entirely.

"No friends to bolster your fragile ego." Harry was tossed into the middle of the courtyard, his limbs coming to rest spread eagled as his blurry vision beheld that the night had already fallen.

' _Winter Solstice._ ' His mind absently supplied, his many library sessions with Hermione having yielded more factoids than simple homework minutiae. As Voldemort grew closer, Harry remembered something else from Hermione's study of the wizarding world.

' _Did you know Harry,_ ' She'd asked him once, her brown eyes bright with joy over finding some new piece of information about this world they'd become part of.

 _'That the use of Merlin's name as an exclamation came about because ancient wizards wanted to avoid taking the name of the what they believed to be the source of magic in vain?'_ He'd asked what they believed to be the source of magic. Hermione had spoken only a name.

 _'Hecate.'_

She'd then told him quite a bit about ancient greek myths and how it related to wizarding beliefs. She told of their belief of how Hecate had survived two celestial conflicts: the war between the Titans and the Primordials as well as the war between the Titans and the Olympians. How her power had been so great not even the Sisters of Fate dared try to cut her thread of life. How her name could be invoked as a blessing or a curse yet none could control what form her answering of the call would take. And so it was deemed best to avoid her name altogether until it passed from utterance entirely.

Harry closed his green eyes, and carefully began to gather his magic, using his memories of the accidental magic he'd performed back on Privet Drive that had earned him such scorn and punishment from his Aunt and Uncle.

"And now no last words of defiance or pleading to make your end any less pathetic." He finished quietly as he came to stand over Harry, his red pupil less eyes gazing at him, wand held loosely at his left side in complete ease.

 _'Hecate, hear my plea.'_ Harry said mentally, ignoring Voldemort with the ease only one who knows the end has come could achieve.

If he hadn't been carefully gathering his magic, Harry didn't think he would've detected the small erratic spike in his energy.

"Do you wish to close your eyes to the sight of your final defeat Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked, tone gaining a dangerous undercurrent. If there was one thing the self-proclaimed Dark Lord could not stand, it was any show of disrespect whether real or imaginary.

 _'I don't want to be saved. I don't want to live. I only want Voldemort gone. I want his evil wiped from this world. Whatever price you ask, I will pay. This I vow to you on my life as Harry Potter.'_ He thought, not certain whether such an ancient power would want him to word it in a more arcane manner but also equally certain that it didn't matter for hippogriff shit at this point.

"Crucio!" Voldemort shouted and Harry's world erupted in pain.

Instead of trying to reject it, Harry could feel the spell charging through his magic. And so he embraced it, letting the pain become a part of his now rapidly building and becoming dangerously condensed magic.

As the spell was released, Harry opened his eyes to the blurry vision of the man who'd once been called Tom Marvolo Riddle Junior levitating him into the air to be held before him, red eyes now the clearest thing he could see.

"You have fought well and long Harry Potter." He said as Harry continued gathering his magic.

"And for that, I shall grant you a mercifully swift death so long as you do one thing." He said, making it sound as though this were some magnanimous minor request of a pickup quidditch game winner.

"What…is…it…Tom?" Harry asked, unable to resist this last chance he had of needling Voldemort as he felt his core becoming fit to burst.

Tom's snake-like nostrils flared angrily as he hissed in reply.

"Watch with open eyes as your death comes."

His wand came up to point at Harry between the eyes, magic already charged and ready to release what would no doubt be the last Avada Kadavra he'd see.

Harry bared his teeth in a rictus grin, mouth bloody and eyes vicious as he chose to release everything he held inside with one answer.

"Go to hell."

The magical explosion radiated from the two, meeting the silent killing curse Voldemort had cast after hearing Harry's response. As they met, the chaotic magic howled and raged as it absorbed the spell and obliterated most everything in its path. Stone and body and blood and fire alike until with one ear splitting and reality rending shriek, it snuffed out as a candle in the breeze.

The final battle for the fate of all English wizards had been decided. And all there was to show for it was death and destruction.

-/-

Circe watched the sun glisten off the peaceful waters gently lapping the shore as she reflected on the life she lived on the island of Aeaea. She ruled her own personal kingdom with her beast men creations and the few scant people she'd never bothered to transform after her cousins the sirens lured them to the island. She was very much a reclusive hermit as the people knew better than to bother her for anything so petty as their problems or lives. She was the most devoted and powerful follower of the Titaness Hecate, her magical power near unequaled for centuries. And yet…

And yet she was unhappy.

Her father Helios, the titan of the sun, had long since passed his mantle and his life to the Olympian Apollo and faded into oblivion. Her oceanid mother was long gone as well. Her cousins might become more tolerable in a few more centuries when they ceased mourning they and their daughters' inability to fly anymore and accept that the loss of their wings to Demeter's curse was unlikely to change any time in the forseeable future. (And when they stopped showing off that for all her magical power, she'd never be able to sing as sweetly as they could.) The one man she'd ever shown any interest in having by her side could only think of getting back to his mortal wife.

She sighed to herself, turning her back on the bright sun and returning to the path that would take her back to her sprawling home that lay amid the enchanted wood. As she traveled the path, she came by beastmen with features ranging from lion to fox, bear to wolf. All her strongest and most loyal protectors who never wanted for game or challenge. Soon enough her automatic traversing of the path brought her before her home: a sprawling building with one main hall and three wings that led off from it. It had echoed well enough with the sound of merriment and laughter when brave Odysseus's crew had partaken of her enchanted food and wine, yet now was silent but for the times she spent in the north wing worshipping her patron goddess and experimenting or perfecting aspects of her spellcraft.

Much as she didn't like to admit it, what she wanted more than anything else was a legacy. Immortal or not, she didn't want to remain alone for the rest of her existence. Was that not why the titans and the gods created men and beast and continued interacting with them even as they knew they would outlive them all? For that knowledge of kinship, however brief? For that legacy and mark of their existence that was entirely apart from themselves?

She brought herself in supplication before the alter of Hecate. Only the best had been afforded for her goddess. From the pale marble forming her image making her skin look the color of the bluest moon carved by Pygmalion himself so that she appeared ready to breathe at any moment, to the black toga woven by Arachne that draped over her form like a shawl of shadows covered much of her statue's body with a few glimpses outside of it. In her right hand, she held a small carved box with intricate runic patterns whose glowing and shifting would've been painful to mortal eyes that had been created by Medea before she disappeared into the mists of time. In her left hand, she held a bronze dagger that was a sharp as the day it had first been lovingly brought into existence by all the magic Circe herself was capable of, its burnished surface gleaming with a quiet menace.

She knelt before it, her mind still reflecting on her solitude as she prayed to Hecate to answer her so that they may delve into the mysteries of the mystic arts once again.

Instead of her lady's voice answering there came a sharp pain in her abdomen.

Circe gasped at the sudden sensation, her right hand instinctively gripping her stomach as the pain intensified. She gritted her teeth against it: not knowing whether this was the Titaness testing her or merely showing her power so that she remembered who was the master and who remained the student. Her mistress could be kind as a gentle summer breeze or wrathful as a hurricane. And though she remained her most devoted (and to be fair only) pupil, she could still never entirely predict her lady's mood and how it would affect the use and learning of her powers. The pain intensified to near unbearable levels as Circe was forced to curl in on herself like a dog being beaten, both hands clutching her stomach as she wondered why she was being forced to feel such pain that death would've been welcome relief.

And then as abruptly as it had begun it ended.

Panting as though she'd run the length of the world, she slowly brought herself to her knees again, never leaving her supplicated stance.

Hecate's voice echoed in the silence of the North Wing; simultaneously everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Rejoice my dear student. For I have heard your heart's desire. In nine months, a soul that gave itself to me in another world shall be born to you in this world. He shall be your disciple and your son. Your blessing and your burden to bear."

Circe couldn't help but gasp, her eyes coming up to look upon the stone visage of her mistress as her right hand instinctively flew to her abdomen, settling upon the space she knew her womb to reside.

"My lady Hecate?" She asked, the amazed question strong in her voice even as she did not know how to express it properly.

"Consider it an answer and a test young Circe. You have proven yourself a faithful and devoted follower. You have filled the role of student admirably. Now I wish to see how you answer to the call of teacher. And how you rise or fall in response to the challenge…it shall determine the final stage of my teachings to you." Came the ominous promise.

Circe bowed her head again, eyes gleaming with speculation and eagerness.

"As my lady Hecate commands." She answered softly, mind already racing at the possibilities and a smile breaking upon her lips at the thought of how much more her power could grow once the child was born.

-/-

A/N: This was a free commission from user Panther-Strife. It's a bit of a test chapter and proof of concept at the moment but will probably be continued if there's not an overwhelmingly negative reaction. Hope people will let me know what they think either way.


	2. Beginning of the New Life

Circe had known that childbirth and pregnancy always changed the woman who went through them. She'd seen enough of that with her cousins the Sirens when they bore their daughters and began raising the babies. Had even been given testimony by Odysseus as to how harrowing the experience had been simply to hear from the next room.

But she could never have prepared to know what it was for someone of her power to bear a child.

At first it had not been anything so arduous. A sickness of the stomach that persisted for the early part of most every day, easily dealt with by a restoration incantation. A shortening of what had already been an easily triggered temper; so much so that even her most loyal beast men soon learned to give her home several kilometers worth of berth, least they unwittingly be caught in her wrath when one of the cramps or wild mood swings took her.

But by far the most chilling for her was the effect upon her magical powers.

At first it had been an experience akin to euphoria as she discovered her powers had grown to a new level of potency. What had once required an incantation only needed a gesture on her part.

At first.

But as the pregnancy progressed, the change came. She found that she couldn't control how her magic fluctuated and flowed as more and more of it became absorbed and channeled into her son who would be.

This was perfectly demonstrated when she attempted to cast a simple scrying spell and ended up turning an entire wall of her bedroom into a sheet of what appeared to be a cross between a kaleidoscope and a mirror. The refracted light gave her such a headache she had to leave the room with all haste least she empty her stomach of everything she'd eaten yesterday before she'd even had breakfast.

As more of her magic was absorbed by her unborn child, she found that it became too dangerous to try and use her spells to try and relieve the pains in her joints and her back. Her breasts swelled and became as tender as her aching joints to the point that near the end of the eighth month, it caused some pain even to breathe enough to raise her chest.

The ninth month had come and was almost passed when she felt the pains.

It had felt so similar to the pains she'd had the day her lady Hecate had conceived her child that she awoke in her bed half thinking that her patron goddess had descended to speak with her. The water that had soaked through most all of her bedding had rapidly convinced her otherwise.

Pain. Pain for two straight days as she screamed bloody murder, her magic wreaking havoc through her bedroom and leaving her the eye of the chaotic maelstrom as she pushed and pushed to bring her baby into the world.

As the sun set upon the second day and night fell, she at brought him into her arms bloody and wailing: first breath drawn and expelled to signal the start of a new life.

Circe could not help the gasp that escaped her at the sight of a caul adorning the upper half of his head, the film covering his eyes and top of his skull as a crown, a part of her mind racing at the implications of her son being not only a conception of her lady Hecate, but a caulbearer as well.

But that would have to wait until he was more than a few moments old. With careful tenderness, Circe used the torn remains of her sleep shift to clean the blood and caul off his small, delicate little body as he at last quieted down and opened his uncovered eyes to reveal blue green orbs that reminded her of the sparkling waters of her private grotto.

Even as her sweat dried upon her body and she forcibly severed then tied the umbilical cord, she placed the caul upon a small wooden bowl nearby her nightstand, magical knowledge urging at her to preserve it as soon as possible. As she took one of her togas to create a makeshift wrap for him, her left arm kept him close to her breast even as he began to feed, his hunger greater than his fright at the new existence he had been given.

She waited until he drank what appeared to be his fill, trying to sense if her magic was settled yet. It continued to fluctuate even as he fed from her, letting her know that it would be some time before she could fully trust it again. Displeasing, but most likely worth it if her preliminary sense of her newborn son was any indication as to his potential power.

Walking through the halls of her home with crusted sweat upon her tired and naked body, she made her way to the alter of her lady Hecate. As she came before the alter, she could sense the air had stilled around it as though her lady awaited her.

Carefully she knelt before the alter as her son's slightly unfocused eyes tried to take in what he could in the dim light of the moon that barely filtered through.

"He is already so strong my lady." She remarked, taking in the innocent features of her son as she tried to reconcile them with the already impressive magical core he had developed.

"As though the offspring of my student would be anything less." Came her goddess's answer.

A flickering blue flame appeared before the marble feet of Hecate's statue, drawing Circe's eyes instinctively. Her goddess truly was invested in this child, to manifest her power so strongly for such a minor display.

"Bring him closer my student." She said, her voice coming directly from the flames.

Circe obliged without hesitation, the honor of her goddess taking such a personal interest in her possible legacy the most potent feeding her ego could potentially receive. With appropriate reverence, she brought her son's body close to the flame as his young eyes beheld the bright light. He squirmed and murmured in her arms, but they sounded (to her new mother's ears anyway) to be sounds of returning hunger rather than sounds of discomfort or fear.

She was proven right as his mouth returned to her breast to seek more nourishment, her magic leaving her in an almost unnoticeable trickle as well whilst he fed upon her milk.

"What do you intend to name him student?" Came the question.

Circe's smile was at once beatific and frightening. For in it was her joy, her triumph, her plans and all her hopes for the future both good and villainous.

"It seems only right to name him in your honor my lady." She answered absently as her right hand stroked his angelically soft skin with the back of her fingers.

"I expect great things from you my precious Hecataeus." She proclaimed in a soft whisper.

"Terrible some may say. But great none the less." She finished as she leaned down to kiss his forehead.

-/-

Hippolyta, queen of the amazons, was a woman intimately familiar with suffering.

She had suffered many an ache and pain to become first a great warrior than the queen of the amazons as she defeated all who had enough support of the people to challenge her in the ring of combat.

Her hair dark as night and eyes blue as the sky, she was a great beauty to behold in the eyes of many a scholar and a solider. But never had she found one worthy of her attentions.

Until Heracles.

As queen of the amazons, word had already reached her ears as to the nature of the labors one of the patron goddesses of the amazons had assigned the most renowned demigod son of Zeus. She knew that she would be expected to keep the girdle, to make him hurt for trying to escape her lady's judgement.

But when he came before her, the strongest man in all the world who was barely holding himself together by throwing his all into these tasks, she knew she could not stand in his way. And so she gave the girdle willingly, not wishing to prolong suffering where it was not necessary. He'd lain with her for that and she'd conceived a son by him.

Thrax had been a beautiful boy. But with his birth came the wrath of Hera. He was stolen from her arms and given to Ares to be raised as a harbinger of war. Hippolyta's heart had suffered greatly at this knowledge, but she had kept it within herself, knowing she must never show weakness before her people.

All knowledge of her son was lost from the amazons save for Hippolyta herself: Hera's punishment for defying the Queen of Olympus's will. And so when Ares incited war between the city states of Greece and brought death to the doorstep of Themyscira with Thrax leading the charge, only Hippolyta could her the screaming anguish in her heart as she sheared her son's head from his body with the unfaltering arm only a true warrior may possess.

Weary of the conflict and knowing Ares would never leave them be, Hippolyta beseeched the goddesses of Olympus to let people recover away from the strife and chaos of man's world. To not let the amazons suffer so much when already the world forced them to hurt so for the crime of being born a woman.

Hera, Hestia, Demeter, Athena and Artemis all acquiesced. They created an island paradise exclusively for the amazons to reside upon and made them immortal so that they could recover their purity of spirit free from the ravages of time and death.

But Hippolyta's heart still grieved for her losses. Grieved for the lost love that could never be between herself and Heracles. Grieved for the lost son whose blood would forever stain her hands. Grieved for the lost sisters who had breathed their last upon the battlefield so that Lady Hera could teach her to never countermand the dictates of Olympus.

She wanted to find comfort in the voluntary exile of her people. And while many had found it, she herself could take no solace now that she had nothing but time to ruminate upon her mistakes and the tragedies that had come of her decisions.

She begged the goddess Hestia for an answer. For in her hearth the fires of Apollo could sometimes be seen and so kindle the sparks of the future. The answer she was given was that she desired a purpose to move forward; proof that new life could spring from old suffering.

The goddesses wanted Hippolyta to give a champion to the amazons. Hippolyta wanted the goddesses to give her hope.

And so out of the wet sand upon the shores of Themyscira, with the mark of her blood adorning its forehead and brought before the hearth in the temple of Hestia, came her new daughter.

Diana. Black of hair and blue of eye, she was a loud child.

As Hippolyta shed tears of joy while cradling the new life within her arms, she vowed that her daughter would not suffer as she had. That she would not know the pain of forsaking her duty. And that with her ascension to becoming a worthy champion of the Amazons, perhaps Hippolyta herself might at last find some comfort in all the darkness that had come before.

-/-

A/N: Well, this seems to have garnered cautiously positive interest thus far. So onward we trudge. Hope people will let me know what they think either way.


	3. Formative Years

The first decade or so of her son's life had been trying for Circe: both as a magic practitioner and as a new mother. Figuring out how to care for such a helpless being that couldn't even hold its own head up was a task and a half, not to mention her only experience with young creatures before this had been raising young bulls to be sacrificed to the gods or young birds to act as conduits or messengers for her lady's power when the mood struck the mysterious titaness of magic. For before her son's birth, it was a rare occasion indeed that Lady Hecate directly spoke to her without the conduit of the statue or a reanimated animal.

But even aside from her lady's unusual interest in her new child, Circe had discovered a few things she would not have suspected in the process of raising him.

She'd discovered that her cousins the sirens were happy to help her look after him once she'd managed to swallow her pride enough to have them come to her home within the forest. And through their care and affection as they crooned soothing songs for him when he was upset, she'd found it brought an upswell of complex emotion that was equal parts relief and annoyance for her to see her son gurgle happily and flail his chubby, uncoordinated arms as he tried to use his pudgy little fingers to grasp at his musically giggling cousins rather than his mother.

She'd discovered as her son began to grow older and toddle his first tentative steps in the forest surrounding their home that the more aggressive of the beastmen could only be relied upon to watch over him from a distance without frightening the poor boy to tears and that the one who was the most surprisingly adept at looking after him was an agile but gentle fox beastman she hadn't seen in so long that she'd simply assumed the others had killed him during one of their juvenile fighting hunts that they sometimes partook in to thin the weaker of their number and to keep their skills sharp.

He kept her son entertained with games of hide and seek or tag, often times allowing young Hecataeus to come so close as to believe he would catch him, only to dance just out of range with a barking sort of laugh that seemed to drive her son's determination ever higher in the face of it. He always managed to tire the young boy out long before anything could happen and returned him to the mistress of the island with nary a word of complaint or conversation, choosing instead to reserve his voice for when he needed to warn, taunt or even playfully tease his young charge.

Though often out of her direct sight of her home, watching their antics together though scrying glass amused Circe; something that didn't often happen with the beastmen of her forest. And so, since the foxman himself didn't appear to remember who he had been before becoming a beastman of her forest, she had taken to referring to the wily watcher by the name of Alopex after the uncatchable vixen that had once terrorized the countryside of Thebes and become enshrined in stone after being set upon by the inescapable hound Laelaps. Which of course had turned into said Alopex referring to her son by the nickname Little Laps, which made him pout and try to catch his quarry all the harder; if only to prove that his furry guardian was not nearly so uncatchable as his name implied.

Though all these experiences, she'd discovered something else: the amount of pleasure she derived from seeing her son's innocent emerald gaze as he grew whilst playing and satisfying his curiosity of the world around him at her feet was only matched by the sorrow and rage the thought of him suffering or in pain could induce in her. She knew he could not remain a child forever, could not avoid having him grow older any more than she could prevent the passage of time itself. And so she sought out her distant cousin, the spirit of the river that flowed through all the world both above and below, Styx. She did not seek a passive baptism as Thetis had for Achilles once upon a time. No, Circe was far too knowledgeable of truly divine power to be satisfied with so basic a thing.

What she sought was no less than Styx's personally bestowed blessing for her son. The titaness who controlled what the Olympus worshippers sometimes called the River of Souls was reluctant, but agreed so long as two conditions were met: That she and her son would swear to never seek to harm the boatman Charon and that they would never allow harm to come to her domain and all who dwelt within it. Circe had agreed, knowing the advantages of having Styx's favor far outweighed what measly costs she had put upon them. As the blue eyed, grey haired Titaness bathed a squirming but trusting Hecataeus in the impenetrable waters that bore her name while intoning in a primal language that had existed before mankind was a thought in the mind of any Olympian or Titan, Circe couldn't help the almost predatory grin that came to her face.

The Olympians had been quite harsh in their punitive measures against the titans whom they had usurped control of the ancient world from. And yet they had not been nearly strong enough to corral and control them all. Hell, they hadn't even been strong enough to prevent the titaness Aphrodite from being named as an Olympian simply because the men were too besotted with the beauty and power she commanded and the women were too weak and quarrelsome to cast her out.

The Olympian gods sought to appear to be all-powerful, as all beings of divine power were prone to doing. But none could even begin to claim such a thing in truth until they had survived attempts to test that power as lady Hecate had. She knew she would be tested in such a way by her lady soon enough, that it would come hand in hand with her lady testing her son's young but already growing strength. And when her lady did, she knew in the core of her heart that their passing of their shared test would shake the foundations of Olympus itself.

Circe wouldn't have suppressed the thrill of anticipation in her breast at that knowledge even if she were capable of doing so.

-/-

Diana had thus far proven quite the rambunctious child for Hippolyta. Physically energetic and never shy about letting her displeasure or happiness be known. Hippolyta had been a mother once before, but Thrax hadn't even been a day or two old before Hera had taken him from her arms. And so it felt like she was learning to be a parent for the first time, though admittedly her position had always made it as simple as snapping her fingers to find someone who could help her care for the young girl.

It had helped of course that none of the amazons were children themselves, the absolute youngest of their number being the once thirty-four-year-old Artemis's near decade younger sister Alexa.

The white haired old philosopher trapped in a copper haired young woman's body as Hippolyta sometimes thought of her. There was some muttering that Diana would be better off hanging about with Artemis, no doubt fueled by the common knowledge of Alexa's cowardice upon what would prove to be Themyscira's last field of battle that had almost cost Persephone an eye.

The fact that Alexa had used some rudimentary knowledge of magic she'd gleaned from those musty old books and tablets most of the amazons cared nothing for in order to restore Persephone's eye to functionality if not beauty seemed to be lost upon them.

But while Hippolyta was more understanding than most of Alexa's personality and quirks than most, she did wish the girl had proven more of a warrior so that she could feel safe entrusting Diana's safety and full education to her.

As it was, Diana had already started gravitating toward Artemis, who many regarded as one of their greatest warriors second only to Hippolyta herself.

As she grew Hippolyta saw in Diana the potential to be a truly legendary warrior and a great boon to the goddesses of Olympus. And she knew she had demonstrate for Diana how to show proper respect to the patron goddesses who had allowed the Amazons to life such a long life.

A bit young perhaps, but it wasn't as though her duties to her people and those who looked after them would allow her to remain ignorant as to what would be expected to them to show their loyalty to Olympus.

And so she'd undertaken the raising of the calf with Diana.

The cow had been raised by Diana personally for years. She had cared for it, fed it, even given it the name of Harmonia for how peacefully docile it was.

But the time came for the ceremony of offering. Harmonia had grown into a beautiful cow with a pure white coat and eyes the color of a cloudless sky. Hippolyta knew that it would prove a fruitful sacrifice for the gods.

She brought Diana before the alter of Olympus: the grand marble slab that was meant to draw all of Olympus's attention to their offering. She had explained many a time to Diana how sacrifices had to be made to the gods so that they could be satisfied and give their blessings. That without them the amazons may well have perished entirely long ago. But it had not eased the pain in the girl's watery blue eyes as she begged her mother to reconsider, to see if perhaps there was another cow who could've been sacrificed to show the gods their devotion.

Hippolyta could only shake her head minutely.

"We all must sacrifice in order to do what is best for all. That is why we sue for peace when we are at war Diana; so that we inflict no unnecessary suffering or loss. But how can we presume to tell the gods what is necessary when it is only by their grace that we live as we do?"

The queen of the amazons had looked out over the bustling life that made an unsteady hum just outside the privacy of the royal temple, her mind reflecting on everything and nothing at once. She quickly returned her attention to her daughter's watering blue eyes.

"We agreed to live here under their divine laws Diana. And so we must live by all their divine laws, else we would expect everything from them while giving nothing in return. And none of the gods cannot abide such naked selfishness."

Diana had cried and tried once again to plead for Harmonia's life, but Hippolyta refused her again despite the ache in her own heart that wished she did not have to strip her daughter of her innocence so young.

Even as Diana quietly sniffled, even as she quickly drew the knife across her beloved cow's unsuspecting throat, Hippolyta could not and did not shy away from the pain it caused her to see her daughter's sorrow. Hard as it was, the sooner she could become accustomed to the sorrows that awaited her, the better off she would be.

If only it were so easy to convince herself when the pale moonlight of the lady Artemis's chariot had fallen upon Themyscira while she tossed and turned sleeplessly within her silken sheets.

-/-

A/N: Always good to hear that there's continued interest in this story's continued existence. Hope people will let me know what they think either way.


	4. Encroachment of Shadows

It had been quite the chore for Circe to find the still living wife of ever-suffering Prometheus, even more so to convince her to come to Aeaea to teach Hecataeus as her husband might've the young titans and spirits once upon a time. But with cajoling from Hecate and a personal promise from Circe that when the opportunity presented itself they would free her husband from the torture Zeus had condemned him to suffer again after Heracles's ascension, Pandora had been all too eager to teach the child who might be instrumental to that day's coming.

While Circe had focused almost exclusively on magic, reading and writing, not to mention stories of the heroes who had lived during Greece's heroic age at her son's request (Odysseus and his cleverness featured prominently due to Circe's own personal preferences), Pandora had focused her lessons instead on strategy, rhetoric, mathematics and logic. Having been wife to and birthed a child for both Prometheus and Epimethus, Circe was not the least surprised that Pandora had proven a more than competent teacher for her son, her ability to explain the concepts she was teaching in such a way that he wanted to understand it fully even if he couldn't quite grasp it at first.

Circe was sure, in her unbiased opinion, that with their combined teachings Hecataeus would evolve into a greater leader even than Deucalion and Pyrrha.

Her son, being a typical young boy cum man, had of course been unable to resist seeking out the other beastmen of her forest and learning to fight from them. More often than not they outmatched Hecataeus in terms of raw speed and strength, but his workaround of using his own inherent magic reserves to come close to matching them on a physical level was a mark of how seriously he had taken Pandora's theoretical lessons on tactics and adaptation and applied them in a fashion that much resembled his childhood games with the still living Alopex. That sort of fluid thinking was a trait she was proud to see in a boy only a few centuries young. Even more so when he began incorporating her lessons on magic and cunning to fight her beastmen by fooling their perception and their senses rather than overpower them by wasting his reserves with raw magical attacks that would drain him quickly when used in conjunction with his self-enhancement.

Where most who called themselves magic practitioners back in Circe's day would've blown a fireball or use a gale force push in order to attack an opponent who was already stronger and faster than they, her son had instead opted to trick that which the beastmen relied upon most to fight him: their animal senses. He shifted his image in their eyes so that he appeared to be inches to the right or left of where he actually was. He affected their perception of his movement so that he could gradually ramp up his speed by channeling his magic through his limbs whilst they believed that it was they who were getting slower instead of him who was getting faster.

Those who tried to wise up to those tricks, he would flare sunlight from his hands to blind or diffuse his scent into the surroundings so that they couldn't tell whether he was panicking or waiting.

But now he sought to leave the safety of Aeaea and explore the world of men that she'd always spoken of existing beyond the blue waters of their island world.

Circe had always known the day would come when her son would wish to see what lay beyond Aeaea's borders. It was an admirable impulse she thought: to find what the world was really like beyond what she or his teachers Alopex and Pandora could show him.

She was proud of all her son had accomplished under their combined tutelage but knew that if he were to prove his worthiness to her lady Hecate when she called upon him to complete labors for her, he would need to grow more experienced beyond what the island could offer. And so, she was going to show him one last ritual he would need in order to be allowed to leave Aeaea: the method of communing directly with their patron goddess.

As he came before her, Circe's now green eyes trailed over her son's grown form. He may have appeared an older teenager just entering into adulthood in the eyes of the ignorant, but he carried himself as a sorcerer should. Back straight, fingers twitching almost unconsciously as if he were preparing any number of spells or illusions to use at a moment's notice, eyes alert and attentive.

Even apart from his magical aptitude, Circe did not think it vain to say that her son had grown into a beautiful man. His green eyes were a brighter shade than even her own magically altered ones, shining like the purest emeralds. His hair was black as raven feathers, growing uncontrollably and refusing to be tamed no matter how much she tried to coax him to do so. He came in just under six feet, his frame somewhat on the thin side no matter what his diet was.

A small smile came to her face as she thought of his cousin, the siren Celandine and her insistence on being around him as often as she could. With her golden hair and bright blue eyes, she was quite the contrast with her son. But she been enamored with him; often insisting he observe her practicing her siren song whilst trying to use it to attract him as she and her mothers and aunts would any other man from the coastal town the ship-wrecked inhabitants had cobbled together and named Acharos so long ago.

Being well familiar with siren song as well as a sorcerer who had proven dedicated to his craft, her son had of course long developed an immunity to his supernatural cousins' methods of magic sometime in his fifties and sixties.

But Circe knew that it was one thing to develop himself so extensively and quite another to directly commune with their patron titaness entirely.

"Hecateaus." She greeted, giving her son a brief hug and smiling for a moment as his arms instinctively raised to hug her back.

"As you well know, our lady Hecate has great plans for us." she began as they simultaneously released the hug and began to walk down the well-worn path of the forest toward Acharos.

"I'm well aware mother." Her son answered politely but respectfully.

"She intends to use us to help the titans regain their strength and regain their former position of superiority over Olympus." He recited dryly, his face straight even as his deadpan tone implied how often she had told him this before.

"I know I have talked about it at length many a time my son." She laughed, amused at his rote if somewhat simplified refrain of what she had told him was their ultimate goal.

"But I do so because we can never forget. Our land, our power, our very identity has been shaped by our Lady Hecate. And so, we must repay her how we can and seek to realize her goals as she has helped us realize ours." She said.

"I do understand that mother. In fact, it is why I seek to make my way in the wider world." He revealed.

"Really?" Circe remarked.

"And here I thought it to be a typical case of boyish wanderlust. How mistaken I must be." She continued.

Her son colored slightly, knowing he hadn't hidden his eagerness to see the wider world after hearing stories of it from his mother and Pandora. But he did not object either, content that his mother would not judge his desire to see more of what the world could be.

Before approaching Acharos they stopped upon the path wherein Circe produced a raven's feather.

"Before you go my son, I would have you be able to speak with our Lady Hecate." She said, using the point of the feather to draw a pinprick of blood from her thumb. As the drop welled up, she slowly swiped the rich red liquid in a small streak across the middle of the feather.

"Here is what you must do without a proper altar…"

-/-

Hecateus couldn't believe it had come to this.

Coming to this strange land beyond Aeaea, he had learned the language of these strangers through Lady Hecate and taken the name Saif Ibn-La'Ahad. Though his magic study had brought him great knowledge and wisdom, his most fortunate occurrence was his invitation to join the most infamous order in the land; the Hashshashin Brotherhood. With his acceptance, he had spent years learning at the feet of its Grandmaster: Malik Al-Mualim. His skill in the art of assassination had caused him to rise through the ranks, becoming the most trusted man to the man the brotherhood called Mentor. Partly from Styx's blessing and partly from his determination to apply all he had learned back home in Aeaea to this new place, Hecateus had quickly become known as the most talented pupil of the Hashshashin brotherhood.

While many feared men like him as bogeymen who came in the night to slay men while they slumbered in their beds, Hecateus had found it to be a place that sought to better the world without inflicting unnecessary suffering upon people whose lives were already hard enough: the primary tenants of their espoused creed reminding him of the stories his mother had told him of Heracles and other heroes, and how he had always been deeply uncomfortable when they went to war and slaughtered men rather than deal with those who were most directly at fault for the strife and conflict.

His loyalty to the man who had been like a father to him was unshakeable even in the face of the growing whispers that his leadership was weakening them; making them less than they had been.

And so, it should have been no surprise that the usurper had attempted to make his move whilst Hecateus had been on an assignment some leagues away. Once he and many others loyal to their leader were gone, the remaining members of the brotherhood had turned against Master Malik. Only a few others had been brave enough to stand against the usurper Ammar Al-Shafi, to attempt to fight back against they who violently attempted their coup within the hashshashin's primary fortress of Masayef.

For even without his most loyal pupil, the man known as Al-Mualim was not without his wits and supporters. The fighting was only now starting to wind down after two days of bloodshed between the factions, with Hecateus's arrival with loyal reinforcements heralding his hope that his intervention in the fight between Al-Mualim and Al-Shafi would be enough to tip the scale in his teacher's favor even if they couldn't triumph against the numbers Al-Shafi had brought to bear.

Yet one by one his fellow assassins were cut down by those they had once called comrade, those they had fought and bled beside. Those who now spilled their blood and watched the light of life leave their eyes with no hesitation in their gaze. Only devotion to the betrayer who dared name himself rightful master of the Hashshashins.

Hecateus moved forward under the swing of the former brother whose scimitar just missed his head. Pressing the man's now over-extended right forearm between their chests, his hands automatically came up behind his back and pulled as tight as he could. A loud crack and popping sound echoed in the chaos, followed shortly by his attacker screaming as Hecateus's strength caused his arm to fracture and shoulder to pop out of its socket simultaneously.

Hearing the approach of another attacker, Hecateus quickly spun and threw the still screaming man into his brethren, their collision creating a tangle of limbs even as blood continued to be spilled within and without Masayef.

Lady Hecate had warned him that Malik was going to be the cause of his own downfall. But Hecateus had refused to believe that the man who had taught him the difference between walking within shadows and being lost to them could be the architect of his own death. Yet now it appeared his patron goddess's prediction was coming true.

 _'No! I refuse to accept that the sisters have already spun his fate!'_ Hecateus thought angrily, narrowly dodging an arrow that came the chaotic ramparts of the fortress even as he raced to find his master.

Malik had taught him the value of innocence in the face of corruption. To show mercy even when you had to strike down those who were your enemy. A man of such principles was worth fighting the inevitable cut of Atropos's shears.

Four more sought to stop him on the steps leading to the entrance hall, all knowing that they had to buy their leader time to kill Al-Mualim before his most loyal student joined forces with him.

Two of them attempted to charge at once, their swords swinging for his head and his side. But Hecateus had already cast an illusion and gotten closer to the man on his left. As their swords appeared to pass through what would've looked to them like an apparition of their opponent, the black-haired son of Circe grabbed wrist of the man he was closest to: squeezing hard enough to shatter the bones.

As he cried out, another of his compatriots attempted to run through Hecateus with his saber, only to find that his screaming friend's body had been pushed into the path of the blade. While his sword was stuck in the now gurgling man, Hecateus had claimed the sword and quickly brought it slicing into the side of the assaulter's right knee, bringing back the blade and slicing clear through half the limb before whirling like a top as he brought the sword to neck level and allowed the edge of it to slice through the right side of his neck.

The fourth attempted to throw a dagger at Hecateus's form, only to have him bat it aside with a contemptuous swat from the metal vambrace on his right forearm. As the remaining man who had attacked first tried to get around the bodies, Hecateus's left wrist flicked and the signature hidden blade of their order clicked into place.

Hecateus went low, hidden blade driving directly into the man's left kneecap. He screamed, his forward momentum working against him as Hecateus grabbed the left hand he was carrying his sword in and brought it up to his neck before using his own hand to draw it across his throat and throw the body at the last man standing.

Even as he'd tried to move away the last guardian was caught beneath the dying weight of his fellow warrior. As Hecateus moved closer to finish the job he snarled up at Al-Mualim's student.

"You and Al-Mualim will both fall before the blade of the true master, fatherless dog!"

Hecateus answered his threat by driving the hidden blade into his throat. With a second flick of the wrist, the blade was snapped back into place beneath the left vambrace as he hurried to the back gardens.

Blood stained the sandstone columns and tiled floor as he moved to the back. He leapt down the stairs leading to the garden as the last sounds of combat were dying down. And as he approached the verdant area that overlooked the chasm that lead to the thundering river below, he witnessed the betrayer run Malik through with his blade before twisting and withdrawing the blade, causing the man who had taught him so much to gasp in pain before breathing his last breath.

With a wordless scream of rage, Hecateus descended on Al-Shafi, drawing his dagger from the sheath that hung diagonally across his back.

Startled in his moment of triumph, Al-Shafi barely brought the sword up to block Hecateus's whirlwind of strikes. Using his skill with illusions, Hecateus managed to trick his opponent into blocking strikes that were never there whilst scoring deep cuts along Al-Shafi's arms and legs, slicking his robe with blood that turned it from grey to brown. But as if the gods of Olympus favored his teacher's murderer, the soldiers under Al-Shafi's command began rushing the garden to protect their leader.

As the other fighters rushed to brandish their weapons against the last living man loyal to Al-Mualim, Hecateus snarled in incandescent yet impotent fury; wanting to kill the man who had caused such death even as he wished to avoid killing those who had once fought by his side.

"Why Ammar! Is this how you express your gratitude to we who gave you a home! A purpose?!" Hecateus's angry accusation rang out.

"Al-Mualim's vision of the brotherhood was doomed to failure Saif! He demanded we give up our families, our ties to the world and for what?! To forever be the pawns used by men who call themselves messengers of god? He refused to see that there is no stemming the growth of evil if we do not burn it out at the root!" Ammar retorted.

"You dare to claim the moral high ground?! You who have slaughtered countless men who were your kin in all but blood?!" Hecateus answered.

"They were not my blood! They were like you: blinded by the shroud of lies Al-Mualim bound you within! You believed yourself to be acting in the name of divinity, that there was righteousness to be found at the point of a blade! And yet you refused to slay those who commanded the armies, who inflicted atrocities and created the suffering simply because they were too powerful for their fellow men to wish dead! What good are those who are meant to fight evil if they stay their blade when it would count the most?!" Ammar said.

"Will you face me with your blade in hand and prove your belief in a trial by combat coward?" Hecateus asked, voice going deadly cold as he brought his dagger to bear: blade pointing directly toward the man who had killed his teacher.

"There can be no fair fight between men and demons." Came Ammar's response.

"So be it." Hecateus said before his dagger flew straight at Ammar's head quicker than any could react.

At the last moment, Ammar had managed to move backwards and to his left, allowing the spinning dagger to only cut through his right eye and eyebrow before lodging in the pillar many feet behind them.

As Ammar screamed in agony, the enraged remains of the brotherhood attempted to charge Hecateus only for the warrior to take a leap of faith off the railing into the chasm below, a final curse shouted to those who remained.

"So long as you live, my vengeance and hate will torment you betrayer! It will be your pain, your madness and your death!"

With that final threat echoing in their ears, many of the triumphant soldiers could not help but wonder why they felt a brief chill run down their spines in the face of a suicidal man's last words.

-/-

Examining himself in the bowl of water, the man known as Ammar Al-Shafi took in the scar that bisected the flesh above and below his right eye that remained even after his bathing within the secret waters of rejuvenation that lay beneath Masayef.

Massaging the aching feeling that had sprung up as his mind inadvertently pictured the look of blackest hatred that had crossed Saif's face before he'd thrown himself from the garden ledge, a knock came on the door.

"Master?" the voice inquired through the oaken portal.

"What is it?" He said, no tone of impatience present.

"The men await your word in the courtyard." It said.

"Very well. I will be out momentarily." He assured it.

The footsteps echoed in the quiet of the night that had fallen after the successful destruction of Al-Mualim's brotherhood.

Taking a breath to fortify himself before exhaling silently, he straightened his back and descended the levels of Masayef to step toward the top of the stone walkway that would lead directly into the courtyard below: where those who professed their loyalty to him and his vision of the brotherhood had eagerly gathered as the torches flickered in the occasional errant wind.

As a few observed his silent exit from the fortress above them, they called for the milling others to stand at attention. The focus upon him was palpable in the dark night, their eyes all expectant and waiting for him to speak. He wasted no time addressing them when silence had fallen.

"Brothers in arms! We are victorious!" He declared, raising his arms to shoulder height with his palms facing the heavens.

A great cheer rang through the courtyard as the men who had fought for him made their happiness at the change known.

"The day of the Hashshashin is at an end! And with it comes a new dawn! No more will we be mere men who do as others bid us! No more will we be servants who answer when called!" He said, hands resting upon the stone railing before him.

"Instead, we have arisen as the long shadows cast by the sins of man! Where the darkness in their hearts flourishes, they shall find our eyes! Where the base corruption of their nature lives, they shall find out blades! And where the suffering of others is inflicted, they shall find our wrath: unmerciful and unyielding as the demons of lowest hell! We are the shadow that shall strike fear into the heart of gods and devils alike!" He told them, watching the fervor in their eyes grow stronger as their convictions hardened into something unyielding and deadly.

"Let our triumph be known! Let all fear the League of Shadows!" He declared to the thronging cheers of his followers.

Soon they began calling the name he had only ever been addressed by in secret: his leadership now unquestionable in the face of his triumph.

"Ra's Al-Ghul! Ra's Al-Ghul! Ra's Al-Ghul! Ra's Al-Ghul!"

Their time of glory had come was his thought even as the scar across his eye prickled uncomfortably.

-/-

A/N: Ok, time for a major question about the nature of this story going forward.

As you may have guessed from the most recent character, a lot of what's going to happen is going to include some elements from other intellectual properties and franchises. But the focus is still going to be primarily DC animated. That being said however, I'd like everyone to let me know either in a review or a pm whether I should go forward with the original story idea to have the characterizations, relationships and ages be based on the Justice League/Unlimited cartoon or try to focus it more on one with the Young Justice/Teen Titans cartoons driving it. I need you guys to think carefully about that because some stuff will be radically different based on which DC animated I get asked to give greater influence to the story.

For example, in a Justice League/Unlimited version, Zatanna would be an adult about par with Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman in terms of age. In a Young Justice/Teen Titans oriented story, she'd be closer in age to Robin, Raven, Starfire, etc. Some characters, such as Superboy, Red Arrow, Artemis or Miss Martian, may be included or excluded based on which universe is the primary building point. So let me know now if you want to have a voice in what direction the story goes.

Or if you don't have much of a preference for which universe is the cornerstone, but very much care about seeing a certain character in a specific way, let me know who it is and how you'd like to see them and I'll try to include it no matter which animated series the story gets based on going forward.

This is going to be extremely important going forward guys, so please please please let me know.


	5. Inadvertant Allies

Steven Trevor was a New York City boy born and bred. He'd grown up with the American dream being hammered into his head at every turn even as the great depression had forced his mother to sell her engagement and wedding rings in order to afford food for the family before trying to buy them back with what few funds his father could scrape out.

When the war had broken up, it was like something out of a storybook to some. The Nazi regime, a great force of evil, taking over the European continent until it was only England and Russia left standing against them. But still a great many people in the United States had been against the war: not wanting to intervene and spend American lives on what was clearly a European problem.

That attitude had lasted until the Japanese military unleashed their firepower on Pearl Harbor and cost many a sailor and soldier's life in a conflict they hadn't even been warned they were a part of. Afterward the war effort had kicked into high gear seemingly overnight. The draft was taking in all able-bodied men it could get, the factories were working overtime to produce materials and equipment for the military and the home office was even going so far as to inter all those of Japanese descent in detention facilities in order to be sure of vetting people with even the slightest possible sympathies toward their homelands.

But Steve was only peripherally aware of these things as he himself had been one of the first draftees to go overseas to Europe. Taken to basic, he'd shown an aptitude for mathematics and a willingness to serve that had caught the attention of the brass in the airforce. When he threw himself into his training with gusto, his comrades and superiors had taken note.

Many bombing runs, dogfights and close calls later he was the Captain responsible for commanding the 32nd Hellfire Squadron. On a recent assignment to the Italian Peninsula, his company had been informed of the Nazis supposedly building an island base nearby. A simple bombing run the brass had said. Of course, he'd felt much differently about it when the fascist bastards had proceeded to attempt to shoot his squad full of more holes than a block of swiss cheese.

His last order before he attempted to take the kraut bastards down with him was to order his men to retreat, to warn command that the base was more heavily defended than anticipated.

As the flaming wreckage of his plane had screamed in a speedy dive toward the dissonantly serene ocean, he couldn't help the rueful smile that came to his face. He'd grown up hearing about how hellish war was and had no illusions about how often he had beaten the odds just by surviving this long. But still…in the back of his mind, he had always held onto that quiet thought that he would be one of the ones to make it. For what man besides one who has truly abandoned all hope ever willingly embraced the thought that he was going to die?

But oddly enough, salvation had come at the hands of something out of myth.

Quite literally it turned out seeing as he came to as a prison of entirely women who, despite their apparent fascination with ancient greek fashion and architecture, looked extremely capable and a little overeager to kick his ass.

And then they'd brought him before the woman they called their queen.

Hair black as a starless night contrasted beautifully with eyes as blue as a cloudless sky. Flawless skin the color of light sand with a figure that simultaneously recalled the Valkyries of ancient Nordic myth and put Steve in an awkward position of having to be glad his fiancée Etta was unable to read his mind. If he survived this, she'd never forgive the sin filled thoughts he knew would return every time he thought of the queen who called herself Hippolyta.

As she bound him in what appeared to be golden rope and began to ask him questions, he felt compelled to speak the full truth as he knew it. Even had he wanted to, he couldn't control the answers his mouth formed as he told her about the war that quite literally spanned the entire world.

There was murmuring among the surrounding warriors, whispers he couldn't quite make out. Some eager, some cautious, still others vehement: though whether that vehemence was to keep out or enter the fray was unknown to him.

But a single strike of the butt of the spear in Hippolyta's right hand immediately shut them all up so effectively that Steve could only imagine President Roosevelt or Minister Churchill being able to come close to pulling off.

As she stood before them all and slowly descended the marble steps leading to her throne, he couldn't help the thoughts of an angel descending to speak with devout priests that the flowing white toga brought to the forefront of his mind.

She looked him in the eye for a long time, his brown eyes unwilling to break her blue-eyed stare. At last she asked him a single question.

"If a champion were to be sent back with you to man's world, would it be enough to convince your leaders to leave the amazons in peace?"

The rope surged with something he couldn't quite identify as he opened his mouth, having long since resigned himself to whatever strange power it possessed.

"If it were entirely up to me ma'am, I'd say yes. But I can't truthfully speak to the opinions of my superiors or what they're liable to do." He said before continuing unprompted.

"My best guess would be that it depends whose side you declare for and how much you do for them. Give a good enough fight for them, and even if they don't want to do right by you, their soldiers would never agree to go after someone who stuck their neck out on the line for them."

She nodded briefly.

"And what ruler would you suggest would give the Amazons the best chance of being left alone?" She asked.

"Well, I'm kind of biased toward the country I hail from: The United States of America." He said. "I'd like to say you should join us because you'd be on the right side if you did. But you could join England or Russia if it was just about being on the side fighting against the Nazis. From a more practical standpoint, my country entered the fight late so our soldiers are the freshest. Not to mention we brought enough manpower and resources to turn the tide for our allies in England and start putting Germany back on the defensive. You fight with us I'd say there's a better than good chance that when the war finishes out, we'll be one of the few who still has enough soldiers left to pose a threat to your island. So, if you get on our good side early, not only could you head off a potential problem in us but you'd also have someone able to prevent any other wolves left standing from trying to circle."

She appeared to be considering his words even as Steve himself was honestly taken aback by the slightly callous reasoning that had come out of his mouth. Though he was forced to admit mentally that it rang entirely true to himself even if it wasn't anything he would've ever said aloud when trying to convince someone to fight in the war.

"My queen, you cannot be considering what this, this… **man** is saying seriously!" Came a venomous objection from his left.

"And if I am Aresia?" Came the cool reply from Hippolyta.

"What debt do any of us owe the world of man my queen?! Why should we step in when they're all perfectly willing to slaughter each other like animals!" She exclaimed.

Steve caught a glimpse of blonde hair out of the corner of his eye but didn't want to turn away from the woman who could quite literally decide whether he lived or died.

Hippolyta's eyes and tone perceptibly hardened.

"Do not mistake your familiarity with my daughter for familiarity with your queen Aresia." Came the soft but decidedly cold warning.

"Your opinion on the world of men is well known to me and indeed to all who have listened to you speak of anything outside of training or patrol routes. But while I understand your vehemence, I do not share it. Nor will I condone treating people I have never met as mindless animals." She elaborated.

"After all, if I were to follow such advice, I would have been forced to enact it against you." She concluded.

 _'Huh?'_ Came the puzzled thought to Steve's mind as his eyes catalogued a physical shifting of a body away from the queen.

"Very well Captain Trevor." She said, gesturing to the two women in bronze armor flanking his sides. Without a word they loosened the golden rope and took it off him.

"It seems Themyscira must send a champion to man's world to ensure the Amazons are left in peace."

"But who of us shall go my queen?" Came the respectful question from a copper-haired beauty ahead and to his right.

"I shall go myself of course." Came the immediate answer from the queen, shocking Steve and all the women present.

"Mother, you cannot!" Came an outburst from the same direction the voice Hippolyta had identified as Aresia had been.

"Oh?" Hippolyta's eyebrow raised in a fashion Steven recognized from his own mother when she heard him saying something colossally stupid within her earshot.

"Do you intend to challenge me for the right to be named champion Diana?" She asked calmly.

Steven turned his head to his left by inches, taking in the breath-taking sight of a woman who achieved the impossible and somehow managed to not only match but surpass Hippolyta's fierce beauty.

 _'That's supposed to be her daughter?'_ Steven wondered silently to himself. _'She looks more like a twin than anything.'_

Aaaand his mind had descended straight into the gutter again.

Steve angrily tried to mentally pummel the heated images swimming in the back of his head into submission, knowing he should probably be paying more attention considering that Diana had just admitted she did not intend to challenge her mother to trial by combat. Which had been followed by Hippolyta declaring that as princess of the Amazons, she expected Diana to rule in her absence and take up the trials to prove herself worthy of queenship should her excursion to the world of man cost Hippolyta her life.

Steve would've expected the princess to accept the duty given to her with eagerness. But instead, she seemed to grow more upset with Hippolyta.

"But mother-" Diana started to protest.

"I have trained you to be queen after me all your life Diana." Her mother cut her off.

"But there is not true way of knowing what sort of leader a person is until they are forced to lead. So I shall give you a chance to show what kind of queen you intend to be while I shall do as all queens must and defend Themyscira as best I can with everything at my disposal." She concluded.

Diana seemed to visibly struggle before sinking to one knee in supplication before Hippolyta.

"If that is your wish mother, then I shall do as you command."

From there, it seemed the Amazons had all whirled into action as one to prepare their queen for the journey to man's world.

"Uh, no offense intended your majesty," Steve said once they were alone for the most part. "But how exactly do you intend to get us back to… 'man's world' as you called it?"

A smile came to Hippolyta's dark lips.

"Tell me Captain," She asked.

"How familiar are you with horse riding?"

"Uh…" He hemmed.

"Honestly never been on one in my life." He said truthfully.

A slight shrug of her shoulders as she led him downward toward the shores he had washed up on was her answer to that.

"Ah well. Then I suppose you'll have to absorb what you can in the next few hours." She remarked.

"Why do you say that?" He asked warily.

"Because unless you intend to share a horse with me, I doubt you want to try and learn horsemanship whilst riding a peagasi across the ocean." She answered.

Steve Trevor had no response to that.

-/-

Therodamas considered herself a reasonable matriarch of the pack. She'd been with them since the beginning, when the huntress had compelled them to hunt their transformed master Aecteon. But when they consumed his transformed flesh, they were imbued with the curse inflicted by the huntress: turning them from their animal selves into men, women and children.

And with this transformation came full knowledge of what they had just done to the man who had raised them and their children from birth.

They'd tried to find her and her servants to try and undo the curse of knowledge they'd been inflicted with but found they were long gone from the spring.

They'd wandered the world after that. Most of the time able to revert back to themselves under the light of day and forget most of it for the time they were what they were before: left only with a vague instinct to find a hunter that they knew not by sight or smell but by shared instinctual memory.

But every night when the moon rose from behind the horizon they became human again and remembered their anguish in full.

They tried praying. They tried begging priestesses. They had even, on a few occasions when their despair and helpless rage boiled over, killed followers of the huntress they came across in an effort to draw her attention.

None of it worked. And so they had wandered endlessly. Traveling over lands and back over again until the only thing that held any meaning was the sights that greeted their human eyes when they tried to sleep away from other humans.

All the children save for Melampus, Lucon and Lycisce were gone now. Lost to despair or dead from the violent encounters they'd had over the long years. Of she and her siblings only herself, her sister Agre and her brothers Hyleas and Dromas remained. And now they had lost track of Lucon.

The boy had always been one for trying to cheer everyone up, especially the now almost permanently saddened girl Lycisce. She was heading the search for him through this darkened wood in this place they didn't know the name of not only because he was her sister's last child but also because she couldn't stand to imagine what would happen to their spirits should he fall to the grip of what the humans called Thanatos.

As they went further, the fog grew thicker in the wood, their dull human senses not allowing them to know what awaited them beyond the limited hair on their bodies prickling uncomfortably with the sensation that they were being watched.

As they came upon what appeared to be the crouched figure of Lucon, he seemed crouched over in the hollow of a great dead tree. When they approached howls of their wild cousins echoed through the night. As they scrambled to the branches of the trees, they emerged from the fog: snarling jaws practically dripping with saliva as they encircled the last of Acteon's loyal hounds. Their red eyes seemed to watch with a gaze not their own: as though they were acting as the eyes of another who was not here.

She didn't want this to be the end. For this to be how their lives came to a close.

So for the last time in her long life Therodamas prayed. She prayed with all the last embers of belief she had in her that someone would answer their call. That the world would prove it had not abandoned her pack entirely.

And so, salvation came in the most unlikely form. That of a dark-haired human attacking the circling wolves and drawing their attention away from them.

She watched mesmerized as he killed the wolves with a grace and power even her faded but affectionate memories of Acteon could not match. Before long there was only one wolf left. As it leapt toward his face, he turned so that it sailed by him in midair, grabbing it by the scruff and placing his other hand over its eyes.

For the first time in countless years she heard the language of her long dead master emerge from human lips. As he chanted, the wolf's howl grew pained before at last there was an angry roar from somewhere beyond the fog and the remaining wolf collapsed in a boneless heap at his feet as he let go of it.

She and her pack scrambled down the trees, having never witnessed such power from any who were not the huntress, hope blooming in her chest that perhaps he could help end their existence.

He took in their nudity. Their long scraggly hair, their dirt encrusted feet and long ragged nails.

He looked to her as the others came behind her, letting her be the one to speak for the pack.

"What's your name?" He asked softly, absently flexing the fingers of his right hand as his green eyes locked on her face.

"Therodamas." She said.

"You have power?" She asked roughly, stepping forward.

He nodded, not seeming to be taken aback by her brusque way of speaking as other humans had been before him.

"Your power help us?" She asked, eagerness coming to her eyes for the first time since she first started vacillating between human and hound forms.

"Perhaps." He said, looking slightly past her.

"Your boy appears hurt." He observed, taking a few steps toward them.

Lucon shied behind the others, his bleeding right leg paining him to put weight on even as he tried to suppress the hurt whimper that welled up in his throat.

An automatic growl rose within her and Agre's throats in response to Lucon's involuntary fear.

"I mean you no harm." The dark-haired human said softly, still coming closer.

"I only want to help you." He beseeched, holding out his hand palm up as if offering for them to sniff.

Therodamas gave a small start at that. Did he suspect what they really were?

Lucon very slowly shuffled forward as the dark-haired human remained exactly where he was.

As Lucon came within reach of his arm, the human kneeled before Lucon's injured leg: rubbing his hands together briefly before closing his eyes and giving a small chant in their second tongue.

As his hands alighted on the boy's leg, they watched in growing amazement as the blood dried and disappeared before the flesh knit back together and smoothed over as though it had never been torn in the first place.

Therodamas knew she'd made up her mind there and then. He possessed power. And if he didn't already know what they were, he was going to find out. He would help them break the curse the huntress had inflicted on them. And when they did, they would see if they could talk him into taking vengeance for their wronged master Aecteon.

"Walk with me." He requested, indicating his left with his head. "There is still a dark presence to hunt here. And I very much doubt he'll give us time to recover."

"What name does red eyes take?" She asked, a bloodthirsty smile coming across her and the other's faces as they saw an opportunity to show the dark-haired human why he should help them and bloody the one who had inflicted suffering on Lucon at the same time.

"He was once known by the human name of Vlad Tepes." The dark-haired human answered as they strode into the fog.

"But now he is better known simply by the title of Dracula."

-/-

A/N:Important to note, these events are not taking place at the same time. They are simply the next significant events in what happened for Harry and Diana told from supporting characters as we lead up to the actual meeting.

On a seperate note, there appear to be two common complaints people have had about the story thus far:

1) Harry/Hecateus doesn't have enough stuff from Harry Potter universe in the DC universe.

and

2) Harry/Hecateus didn't effortlessly steamroll the other assassins when fighting them in chapter four.

So the shorter answer is the one to number 2: Harry doesn't take a single hit from any of the trained fighters from the assassins/league of shadows in the entirety of the chapter. He permanently disfigures and curses Ra's Al Ghul to such an extent the Lazarus Pit can't fully heal him. But then he chooses not to indiscriminately slaughter people he'd slept and eaten and trained beside because he only wanted Ra's head so therefore he's weak? What more did you want exactly? For him to say screw it, cast Meteor and simply annihilate the entirety of Masaef from the face of the earth? His style of magic, as narrated by Circe's portion of the chapter and Harry's actual fight with the rebel assassins is based primarily on deception and trickery rather than flashy over the top spellcasting. If that's not to your tastes, than I'd suggest you read one of the countless fics centered around him as the unstoppable "Master of Death" that seem to overflow from this section of the crossovers. They seem to be about even with the number of them turning him into 'Harri' and making him just the girl Batman never knew he needed to thaw his frozen heart.

Which leads to my answer to number 1: I'd like to start by asking you which part of Harry being **reborn/reincarnated** into the DC universe was unclear from the story description? Contrary to popular misconception, people who are reincarnated or reborn into a different life are not expected to maintain memories of the past life they lived. Only the vaguest of feelings or impressions. Because the basic theory behind those ideas of what happens after you die is that while the life someone does live through is temporary the underlying spirit that lives it has lessons and ideas to learn from each new life that remembering the old one would interfere with because it'd be too busy getting bogged down in something that  does. not. matter. anymore. And honestly, I'm ashamed that no one has apparently picked up on any of the expys or composites of Harry Potter characters and settings I've already begun seeding through the story. Even aside from Circe gaining the looks of Lily Evans and the devotion to her son's well-being of Narcissa, I had a shape-shifting doglike creature who is more about the creature than his human life at this point (Remus Lupin) that played with him as a child to entertain him and gave him a little nickname based on what he learned/experienced in that childhood (Sirius Black). He's grown up around supernaturally beautiful women who can hypnotize men and have birdlike features (Veela) and developed an immunity toward their magical charms (allure immunity) as well as a relationship with a younger one whose name means yellow flower (Fleur Delacour) and is hinted to have a crush on him that he's oblivious to(Gabrielle Delacour). One of the amazons has been described as a grey-haired old scholar in the body of a young woman and a person for whom knowledge is more important than martial prowess (Hermione Granger) and we've even had a small ramshackle village be located nearby the huge place of magical learning where Harry lives on the other side of an enchanted woodland. (Hogwarts, Forbidden Forest, Hogsmeade) I feel compelled to question if any of these are ringing any kind of bells for those people who are complaining about there not being enough Harry Potter stuff in the story to justify it as a crossover. So consider this a last ditch warning: if you were expecting me to simply import characters and locations wholesale, this is not the story for you. This Harry is not going to directly remember his life from JK's universe because that's not how rebirth works. This Harry also is not going to have the exact same personality whether canon or what you imagine should be canon because once again, that is **NOT** how rebirth works.

This is what the story is. So if you continue reading beyond this chapter, that's on your head not mine.


	6. Creed and Duty

Hecataeus had only just managed to stay out of what the mortals were calling the first world war thanks partly to Therodamas and her pack staying to enforce his power after they'd sealed Dracula before proceeding to claim his former territory as their own and partly due to his time being spent setting up a runic archway in the catacombs as a way of transporting to and from Aeaea. Working with his mother, they'd managed to partially unravel the magic that bound the curse of Acteon to them: allwing the pack to morph into half-man half-wolf creatures akin to the other beastmen of the island who'd then proceeded to welcome them without a second thought.

They'd sworn their loyalty and their pack to the power of his blood forevermore for that. His mother was inordinately pleased at his accidental recruitment, especially when he explained about how they'd assisted him in banishing a befouling presence from the world of men. Though claiming the castle had also brought with it an unexpected bonus. For after speaking with his mother and Lady Hecate extensively about the possibility, he'd been pleased to inform his cousins the sirens that since the portal connected the former castle of Dracula and his mother's manse on Aeaea, they could technically leave the island without drawing the attention of Olympus by traveling through the portal: keeping in mind that they could never try to leave the castle itself.

His lips had tingled for two days after the ecstatically grateful kiss Celandine had given him when she first watched the setting sun illuminate the dense foliage from atop the parapets of a castle in a land she'd never imagined she'd see whilst Demeter's curse remained in effect.

The nearby villages had soon noticed that the darkness Dracula had once infected their homes with was dissipating even as the world at large lost its mind in the conflagration of war. The sirens kept to the castle and the villages kept their speculation about the castle or whoever may have occupied it to themselves, speaking nothing of it with their government nor any outsiders who passed through. And if occasionally one of their young men heard the singing of what he claimed to be a heavenly choir beyond the dark tress of the forest and disappeared for some time afterward before returning home in an entranced daze, well…so long as they had no more red-eyed wolves waiting to savage any who sought the castle without permission or wailing families lamenting the loss of their children and their elders to the insatiable appetite for living blood the undead lord and his unholy concubines possessed, it all seemed a fair enough trade.

With this second world war, there had come word that there was a new warrior of seemingly supernatural power fighting against the Nazis: a woman only ever referred to by the codename of Valkyrie. Hecateaus could honestly say he never would've suspected the woman the allies called Valkyrie to be Queen Hippolyta herself had his mother not recognized the description of her.

That was when the Lady Hecate had told him that now was the time to strike at the Amazons and show the strength of the titans was not gone by assassinating the one who was meant to be ruling them in her stead.

Hecataeus knew that if he were a better person he would be more reluctant to do this.

It was true that he'd been taught to kill, to murder, to take life as a way of living. He'd never seen it as a reprehensible thing however: after all, the Titaness Hecate had always taught him and his mother that the true power of magic came from sacrifice. In many ways his life with the hashashin had been a more mundane example of that idea in practice.

But what Lady Hecate was asking him to do now was different.

Master Malik's teaching of the hashashin creed had never spoken of pre-emptive action against enemies. His mentor had been quite definite on the point that if there was a peace in place you were not the one to shatter it. For to do so would also break the third tenant of the creed and compromise the brotherhood.

Taking the fight to the potential enemies and seeking their blood before they had thought to seek yours: that was always closer to Ammar the traitor's interpretation of the creed.

Yet more than anyone else besides his mother he was bound to the dictates of his Lady Hecate. If she commanded, he knew he must obey.

And so, he had swallowed his hesitation and prepared himself to find the mystical sanctuary of Themyscira to strike a crippling blow against the last bastion of true Olympian power in the mortal world.

He knew there would be no hope of taking the entirety of the Amazons on his own: for every one of them was trained for war from the time they could walk like the spartans of old. And that was before factoring in the personal favor bestowed upon them by the goddesses like Athena, Artemis and Hera. No, if he was to kill Hippolyta's chosen replacement, he would need to separate her from the other Amazons and make sure they didn't interfere when he completed the task set for him.

And who better to present a challenge to the amazons than themselves?

With that basic idea driving his preparations, Hecataeus practiced for weeks and hashed out his plan of attack as best he could for never having seen the island before. When he felt he was as ready as he could be he departed in the dead of night under the empty sky of a new moon to avoid any possible chance of the virgin huntress seeing him make his way to the island.

To travel, he summoned a Hippogriff: having learned during his preparations that he had not yet earned the right to summon their more powerful sires the Griffons until he had sufficiently proven his strength of will.

They flew across the churning waves of the ocean to following the directions Lady Hecate had given him. Just as the sun was beginning to peek above the horizon, Hecataeus felt the tingle of magic that signified he was approaching the barrier that shrouded the island from sight of the mortal world.

With an incantation meant to resonate himself and the hippogriff with the same energy as the barrier, they passed through it as the bottom-most curve of the sun at last was entirely above the horizon.

Knowing that time was of the essence from this point forward, he urged his mount toward the highest point he could see on the island: a snow-capped peak that seemed to watch over the settlement that rested in its shade by the shore. This worked well for his plans, allowing him to approach from above and weave the largest web of magic upon the unsuspecting amazons and catch them by surprise.

The hippogriff showed its prowess as a mount by landing some ways up beyond even the highest part of the mountain the settlement extended onto, a narrow ledge that allowed him to look down upon it all with a minimal chance of them seeing him.

He nodded his thanks to the magnificent beast, feeding it a large chunk of meat he'd brought with them for the journey before instructing it to stay there. The creature's intelligence shone through as it trilled an affirmative noise, settling on the peak to eat and wait even as Hecataeus made his way down the cliffside, relying on the grey cloth of his hashashin gear to let him blend into the snowy stone up this way.

His heartbeat thumped loudly in his ears as he made his way behind what looked to be the great temple of worship adjacent to what looked like the royal palace. If the chosen heir was anywhere, it'd be here. He climbed the columns to the back of the temple carefully, picking up the sounds of waking and bustling just beyond his view, knowing that meant he had to get to the roof before any patrols came by.

Once he reached the peak of the temple roof, he brought forth a raven feather from his belt, biting his thumb hard enough to draw blood and smearing it across the feather. Calling upon the power of the Titaness, he summoned a medium sized raven to his right hand. He recognized this particular raven for the slightest hints of grey among the black and flecks of brown in her feathers and the unwavering hesitation with which she'd followed his commands as he scouted the forests of Europe seeking the trail of Dracula and his abominable ilk. The raven, whom he'd named Epagellia on a whim, cocked her head as she looked at him; a low warble emerging from her beak in a questioning tone.

He carefully placed his left hand atop her head, left thumb placed between her eyes just above where the beak met the face.

" _Four eyes, one gaze. Two minds, one purpose._ " He intoned in the ancient tongue, the sensation of being both within his own body on the roof of the temple and within the feathered body of Epagellia a strange one even after his days spent practicing it on her and her brethren.

" _Fly!_ " Emerged from both their throats, his in a single word and hers' in an answering caw. Now secure in their feathered body, Hecataeus and Epagellia flew up high: their shared emerald eyes taking in the center square below.

The predominant metal was bronze, with only a few bits and pieces of iron scattered as pieces of the armor on the guards. The pair looked to the shiny metals they could see, trying to see if perhaps there was a concentration that might prove vital in identifying the queen's replacement.

A moment later they discarded that idea, seeing too many armors around the square to reliably say that they were concentrated anywhere. Besides which, what did the amazons have to fear on their own island in their own settlement? This was not Jerusalem where the leaders of crusader and muslim forces alike had to be guarded against each other and against the violence that might break out. This was all one faction, one people here upon a land mystically hidden from sight of mortals. If anyone should expect to be safe here it was the ruler of the amazons.

They landed atop a potter's stall: their wings folded back and eyes searching the nearby faces to see if one looked even vaguely like the description of Valkyrie.

"Get out of here you pest!" Came an angry female voice from below him.

They looked down, taking in the brown hair and brown eyes of the woman below them, her chiton flecked with dried clay from her work. Neither was willing to take such treatment from a single potter. So, they answered her with similar rudeness: cawing derisively and taking a single hop to the left and then to the right on the edge of the awning above her wares to show that she couldn't force them to do anything without resorting to physical force.

The anger grew on her face, infinitely amusing them as she appeared to contemplate using her own work as a projectile against them.

"Is that really necessary Silendre?" Came the soft-spoken question from nearby.

The sorcerer and the raven he inhabited turned their shared head to look and see who'd spoken. Copper colored hair. Intelligent brown eyes. A rolled-up scroll in her right hand, a bronze xiphos in its sheath at her left hip. And was that…

They cocked their head to look closer. Yes, it was the rudimentary beginnings of a magical aura. Who knew the amazons had one who studied magic among their number here?

They cawed once in greeting before gliding down and settling on one of the jars in front of her. Hecataeus and Epagellia cawed again to see if she would prove a good shield against the angry Silendre.

A warm smile came to her lips then, as she held out her left hand as an impromptu perch.

"My, aren't you a talkative one?" She asked rhetorically as they hopped onto her left hand. They warbled an affirmative as she brought their feathered body close to her eye level.

"You cannot be serious Alexa. Why are you coddling that thing?" Silendre rebuked, crossing her arms beneath her chest as if disappointed she could no longer argue with them.

"Why can I not be serious: because I think you're acting ridiculous by feuding with an errant bird?" The copper haired young woman asked in turn as she placed the scroll in her right hand through the cloth tie of her chiton before bringing her now empty hand up to stroke their chest feathers.

Their head cocked again, taking in the full measure of her magic. Under-developed but practiced. Only one or two spells done before but she'd practiced them enough that her aura had begun developing even without access to more that could expand and further it.

The chest stroking felt nice, forcing an involuntary sound of satisfaction from their throat. The young woman known as Alexa started to walk with them still on her hand.

"Come. Let us see if we can't find you a treat to send you on your way with." She cooed softly.

As the unsuspecting woman walked through the marketplace as his unknowing escort, they gradually migrated from her hand to her right shoulder, allowing her to draw the scroll from her side and bring it up to study again. They noticed that their bronze maned perch was getting more than a few askance looks as she walked a route that seemed as automatic as breathing without her eyes ever leaving the scroll in her hands.

Out of curiosity, they looked to see what scroll she was reading and were surprised to discover it to be one of the scrolls written by the philosopher Pelagion that Hecataeus'd once been instructed to read as a primer by his mother. Judging by her line of sight and furrowed brow, this Alex'd reached the part where Pelagion talked about the role of divinity in spell casting and when higher powers would likely need to be called upon to enhance a casting.

They wondered if she believed the lie the huntress had spread about how she had chosen to take up the mantle of mistress of magic from Lady Hecate.

"I know you tend to get caught up in your scrolls little sister, but this is a bit much even for you." Said an amused woman. Hecataeus, Epagellia and Alexa looked up to see who had spoken.

It was a woman of similar lineage as their scroll reading perch but obviously older and, judging by her stance, a much more skilled fighter. She was accompanying a younger woman roughly Alexa's age with features that easily matched Hecataeus' cousins the sirens for supernatural beauty. Hair almost as black as the night sky and clear blue eyes that seemed to belong to the unclouded day rather than on a human yet attached to a body that could've almost been crafted by Pygmalion himself.

They cawed in surprise as they realized that by sheer chance they'd been brought right to Hippolyta's heir. Especially when they found that looking at her was almost like looking directly at a burning fire. Her magical aura was almost too strong. And yet it was obvious that it hadn't come from anything she herself had done.

It was one of the most confusing things they'd ever seen. The closest reference point they could think to equate it to was the time Hecataeus had successfully learned to create and animated a rudimentary golem but found he couldn't see the point in pursuing it further when he could just take care of whatever the problem was himself.

"I found Silendre losing an argument with it and thought perhaps it could be good companion to talk to about my scrolls." Alexa answered, seemingly happy to recount their encounter from a few minutes ago. An amazon who found more pleasure in reading about things rather than hitting them. Would wonders never cease?

"You could simply talk to one of us Alexa." The black haired young woman said.

Alexa shook her head, causing some of her copper hair to flutter on and around Hecataeus and Epagellia.

"I know how you feel about anything that does not relate to combat or battle tactics princess." She answered as she brought the scroll to her chiton's cloth belt again.

"If I wanted someone pretending to fall asleep so they wouldn't have to talk about the words of dusty old philosophers, I'd simply ask Artemis again." She continued.

"It's an older sister's duty to pull her younger sister's head out of the clouds when she begins to lose herself in them." The now identified Artemis answered unashamedly.

"You could practice with us." Hippolyta's heir suggested, undeterred by Alexa's unspoken wish to be alone.

Hecataeus and Epagellia cawed loudly as they flapped their wings to get up and hovered over to Hippolyta's replacement. Taken aback, the girl briefly took a step and a half back as they landed on her slightly upraised arms, green eyes looking directly into her blue.

"What is it doing Alexa?" The one called Artemis asked, leaning toward the princess as if ready to attack them if they proved themselves unfriendly. They had to be quick here if they were going to get what they needed.

"It is a simple raven sister. What harm do you imagine it could do to your apprentice?" Alexa asked with a touch of mirth.

The slight laugh in Alexa's voice had seemingly broken the princess's concentration on the impromptu staring contest she'd gotten into with Hecataeus and Epagellia as well as reminded her that she was seemingly startled by an ordinary bird.

She straightened out the left arm the twin-minded raven had settled on and stepped forward again, seemingly content to let them do as they pleased.

"Do you imagine a lowly raven could bring me low Artemis?" She asked the older bronze haired woman.

"Of course not Diana." She answered immediately. Diana. So that was the name of Hippolyta's chosen. Was she her Daughter? No that couldn't be right: there was no hint of any father in her. And besides which, it didn't explain the saturation of magic though her whole being that they were seeing now. Unless she was a demigod? That could explain some of it but not all. Demigods often had some of their godly parent's strength but none so full of the aura yet able to exude none of to their surroundings. It was like she was drawing strength from the island itself. Was it something to do with Hippolyta designating her the princess in line to become queen? Perhaps they would have a better chance to figure this out if they saw her in action. The longer they lingered the likelier it would become that the Olympian would alert them to their presence.

They had to act quickly. So, they hopped their way up Diana's arm and pecked their beak in her midnight hair a few times to obtain some strands before any had time to react. Then as the princess expressed her outrage at the sudden intrusion, they took flight again, taking off for the rooftops and making their way toward the temple again.

As they made their flight over the rooftops and began to approach the temple again, they could only hope that the answers would not prove to make things more difficult than they had to be in the face of the doubts that were creeping in the back of their mind.

-/-

Author's Note: Long time coming, finally out. Next chapter will be exclusively Diana. Hope people like it.


End file.
